


Security Failure

by Kangofu_CB



Series: Security Issues [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Dom/sub, Feelings, I'm not even sure it can be classified as light at this point but it's not crazy heavy either, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink Clint, Punishment, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Spanking, circus spanking, gentle dom Bucky, if last fic's theme was reward this one is definitely the opposite, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 04:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18403466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: “I’m gonna spank you,” James murmured into Clint’s ear, his breath hot where it ghosted across his skin.  “And you’re gonna count.  Ten strikes.  If you don’t count ‘em out loud, you get another.  It only counts if you number it, do you understand?”James hands were trailing over his bare skin, up and down his spine and across his ribs, and Clint vaguely wondered if he was checking for injury more than copping a feel, before deciding he didn’t care.“Gotta count the swats, got it.”  Clint was already sinking into that place in his mind where everything was quiet and still and entirely about whatever James asked him to do.  The anxiety of the day and the pain in his leg seemed to fade away beneath the desire to be good, beneath the realization that as long as he did whatever James told him to do, he was right.  He felt James’ chest vibrate under his hands as he chuckled silently, and Clint distantly wondered what was so funny.“Normally, I’d turn you over my knee,” James said, slow and thoughtful, and Clint-Clint felt a hot rush of want coil in his gut, and he made an involuntary noise in the back of his throat.





	Security Failure

**Author's Note:**

> This 'verse has properly outgrown its initial box and now has themes and prompts and FEELINGS and I am not at all apologetic. As always, mind the tags. If you think I've missed tagging something, please let me know.

Clint stood with the hot water beating down on him, letting it relax the muscles in his shoulders and lower back, and wondered, how exactly, he was going to go about ensuring James didn’t notice his black and blue ankle.

 

Said ankle twinged uncomfortably when Clint shifted to reach for the soap, and he was forced to admit that he wasn’t going to be able to hide the injury for any length of time.

 

But really, he only wanted to get away with it long enough to get some rest and maybe get fucked.  That wasn’t asking for too much, right?

 

It was just that James had been pretty clear, the last time Clint had hurt himself on a job with Nat, that the next time Clint came home injured in what was supposed to be a safe, simple job, there was going to be some kind of price to pay. Clint wasn’t exactly keen on finding out what that penalty would be.  

 

He’d hurt himself, sure, but he hadn’t got  _ caught _ , and that was the important thing here, in Clint’s opinion.

 

Never mind that getting caught would have resulted in nothing more than a more-competent-than-expected report to the security company that had hired them.  It was a matter of professional pride for Clint. 

 

The look on Natasha’s face as she’d helped him hobble to the urgent care after their carefully-crafted exit hadn’t boded well.  Clint wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t rat him out to James at the first available opportunity. 

 

Clint climbed out of James’ - out of  _ their _ shower, since he’d moved in last month, something that still caught him by surprise - gingerly, reaching for the towel and drying himself off.  It was early enough in the day that if he hurried, he could wrap his ankle and ice it for a while before James even got home.

 

He was doing just that - his seriously damaged ankle propped on the coffee table with a bag of ice and a beer in his hand - when James texted him. 

 

_ Be home in an hour.  Missed you. _

 

Clint startled enough to knock the ice pack free, and leaning forward to pick it up put just the right amount of strain on his injury to make him hiss.  

 

There was no way James wasn’t going to notice.

 

Okay.  Distraction it was.  

 

Clint dumped the ice pack, popped four ibuprofen, and slipped thick, fuzzy socks on his feet beneath the worn out sweatpants he was already wearing.  He had approximately fifty minutes to come up with some kind of foolproof plan. He was standing in the bedroom, staring at the crisply-made bed, the nightstands - James’ neat as a pin and Clint’s a mess of charger and lopsided alarm clock and the dish he tossed his hearing aids in - when brilliance struck.

 

*

 

He was trying to sit comfortably on the couch, another beer in hand when James got home.  His feet were still on the table, his left foot crossed carefully over the right, hopefully hiding the still-noticeable swelling of his ankle - and elevating the injury per doctor’s orders, take that Natasha - and he looked up with a grin at his boyfriend. 

 

James looked great.

 

Well, he always looked great.

 

But he also looked tired and a little bit stressed,  wrinkle between his brows and strain at the corners of his eyes that Clint immediately wanted to soothe away.  Clint stood up, setting his beer aside and oh-so-carefully walking closer, trying not to favor his leg too much, trying not to draw attention to it. 

 

“Hey sweetheart,” James said, smiling, and Clint slipped into his embrace, wrapping his arms around James’ waist.

 

“Hi,” Clint said, and leaned in for a kiss that was more soft and welcoming than heated, for all that Clint wanted to angle for heated.

 

Clint had been gone a couple of weeks; he was more than ready for some intimate attention.

 

In truth, he almost felt like he  _ needed _ it.  Needed the strength of James’ embrace, the surety of his grip.  

 

“Miss me?” James said, playful, when they separated. 

 

“Yeah, Nat’s just not as good a bed partner,” Clint teased. 

 

“Mmm,” James agreed, leaning in for the kind of kiss Clint had been hoping for - deep and thorough, a little bit dominating.  Clint groaned into it, pressing his body against James. 

 

James’ hands shifted from where they’d been resting on Clint’s hips, one sliding up between his shoulder blades to grip his neck and the other lower, to palm his ass and hitch Clint forward. 

 

“Nat not givin’ you what you need baby?” James said, his voice already low and rough.

 

Clint snorted a laugh.  “Not really, no,” he admitted.  “She kicks in her sleep.”

 

They hadn’t even shared a bed, not really.  Just a hotel room with two doubles, and if Natasha kicked in her sleep, Clint didn’t know about it, but the banter was familiar, easy, and helped wash away the last of the tension Clint was carrying in his spine.  He sank further into James, until their bodies were melded together enough that James’ belt buckle was digging into his abdomen. 

 

“Hungry?” James asked, and Clint shook his head, diving in for another kiss.  He’d eaten before his shower.

 

“Good,” James growled, tearing his mouth away and gripping Clint’s ass harder.  “I had a late lunch, and I’m in the mood for something else right now.”

 

They managed to make their way to the bedroom without incident, James herding Clint in the direction he wanted, and Clint mostly keeping up without taking his mouth off of James’ skin, before it all went terribly, terribly wrong.  

 

James reached to pull Clint’s shirt over his head at the same time that Clint reached for James’ belt buckle, and in the confusing tangle of limbs, Clint stumbled.

Onto his bad ankle.

 

He  _ nearly _ managed to bite back the pained hiss,  _ almost _ managed to compensate for the way his ankle couldn’t take his weight without too much of a limp, but it was all much, much too late. James’ hands on his waist went absolutely still, supporting instead of tearing at his clothes impatiently, and his eyes narrowed as he looked Clint over.

 

“Are you hurt?” James demanded.

 

Clint swallowed hard, and shuffled a little in place, taking more weight off of his injury and onto his good foot.  Luckily, or unluckily, he’d hurt the same ankle that was attached to his weaker thigh, so it didn’t look strange for Clint to be leaning his weight mostly on his left leg.

 

“Clint,” James said, fingers tightening on his hips, “did you hurt yourself?”

 

“I… ah… maybe a little?” Clint admitted, fidgeting under James’ assessing gaze. 

 

“Where?”

 

“My ankle,” Clint said.  “It’s fine, I had it checked out.  Just sore,” he rushed to add. 

 

James did not look mollified.  “And you just… weren’t going to mention it?”

 

Clint grimaced.  

 

“What happened?” James asked, and that- that was the crux of the issue.

 

It wasn’t that Clint  _ never _ got hurt on jobs.  Their work wasn’t as risky as  _ actually _ breaking into high-security places and stealing valuables, but they didn’t warn security first, and there had been a few close calls.  Nothing like their old lives, but Clint had been tazed at least three times, and he’d wrenched his shoulder once and his wrist twice. 

 

Normally, it wasn’t a problem.

 

What made James upset was when Clint got hurt because he’d done something dumb and this-

 

This definitely qualified as dumb.

 

“I fell,” he said, which was technically true.

 

James’ eyebrows crawled up his forehead as he stared at Clint in disbelief.  He waited, expectantly.

 

“You fell,” he said, flatly, when it became apparent that Clint wasn’t going to say anything else.

 

Clint nodded. 

 

James blew out an exasperated breath and guided Clint to the chair in the bedroom, carefully supporting his elbow, ready to take on more of Clint’s weight if necessary.  Once he had Clint sitting down, he knelt on the floor and lifted his feet, one by one. The left foot first, sock removed and calf and ankle carefully examined. He moved onto the right foot, slipping the sock off and tossing it towards the hamper.  James’ mouth thinned out as he took in the greenish bruising that extended from the top of Clint’s foot, around his ankle, and up his calf several inches, along with the stiff zinc tape Clint had been using to support the joint ever since the doc had said it didn’t need casting.  James pushed the worn out elastic of the sweats up and over Clint’s knee, looking for more injury, and seemed relieved to find nothing else.

 

He pulled Clint’s foot into his lap and trailed gentle fingers over it, skating carefully over the worst of the bruises, bringing an inexplicable lump to Clint’s throat. 

 

“Are you going to tell me the truth, sweetheart, or do I have to call Natalia?”

 

Clint tried to swallow past the pesky lump, past the squeezing sensation in his chest, and found he couldn’t.  He shook his head jerkily, chewing on his bottom lip. “I fell,” he croaked, after a few seconds.

 

“You won’t like it if I have to call Natalia,” James warned, wrapping a warm hand around Clint’s sore ankle and rubbing gently at the protruding bone there. 

 

“What are you gonna do, spank me?” Clint grumbled, and then knew instantly that it was entirely the wrong thing to say. 

 

James cocked his head, watching Clint with an unfamiliar look.  “If that’s what it takes,” he said, slowly. “You ever been spanked, honey?”

 

The flash of heat that went down Clint’s spine surprised him.  He’d never had more than a casual slap on the ass during sex, and spanking wouldn’t have been something he’d claimed any interest in until exactly this second.  He shook his head again, feeling his face flush. 

 

Smirking, James leaned forward enough that he could reach the waist of Clint’s sweatpants, Clint’s foot still in his lap, and said, “Lift.”

 

Clint obliged, raising himself on the foot still on the floor and allowing James to drag the pants and underwear down his thighs.  His cock flopped against his leg, half hard already, a heavy weight between his legs. The movement also reminded him, pointedly, of his planned distraction, and he mentally groaned.  It was not, he figured, going to go over as well as he’d originally hoped.

 

“Take your shirt off,” James said, as he eased the pants down Clint’s legs and over his ankle.  When they were off, James folded them neatly and sat them on the ottoman at the foot of the bed.  Clint reached behind his head and pulled his t-shirt off, leaving him naked as the day he was born.  

 

“You sure you don’t want to just tell me what happened?” James checked, one last time, but Clint was flushed and aroused and actually a little bit interested in the proposed punishment, so he shook his head again.  

 

“It’s dumb,” he did admit.  “You’re gonna be mad.”

 

“I’m already mad,” James said, pursing his mouth.  “Because you tried to hide it from me.”

 

Clint had the grace to flush in embarrassment this time, but he still wasn’t ready to tell the story. 

 

“Okay,” James said, once it was clear Clint wasn’t going to answer him.  “You’re supposed to keep your foot elevated?” he asked, and Clint nodded again.

 

“Alright,” he said, after a few moments of thought. “Ground rules.”

 

“Red, yellow, green,” Clint said, in a huff.  “My safeword is Memphis.”

 

“You think you’re cute,” James mused, as he pulled Clint’s still-unpacked suitcase over from beside the dresser and propped Clint’s swollen ankle on it.  Then he stood up, removing his belt and tie, and started cuffing his sleeves.

 

“I am cute,” Clint protested, but his voice was already breathy with want, and the words didn’t have the bite he’d intended. 

 

“Mmmm,” James neither agreed nor disagreed.  “Ground rules,” he repeated, and then paused as though daring Clint to interrupt him again.

 

Clint didn’t.

 

“It’s a punishment,” James cautioned.  “You will let me know if it’s too much.”  It was a command, not a suggestion, and Clint shivered even as his head bobbed in agreement.  “You can use your colors if you need to, but if you safeword out, we’re done. Safeword means stop.”

 

Clint sucked in a shuddering breath.  That wasn’t new, his safeword always meant stop, but in this context it seemed different in a way that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.  

 

James stepped closer and tugged Clint up out of the chair, letting him settle his weight on his right foot until he was stable.  Clint was naked, pressed up against James’ still crisp slacks and carefully-pressed shirt and, as always, something about the contrast left him feeling both vulnerable and aroused. 

 

“I’m gonna spank you,” James murmured into Clint’s ear, his breath hot where it ghosted across his skin.  “And you’re gonna count. Ten strikes. If you don’t count ‘em out loud, you get another. It only counts if you number it, do you understand?”

 

James hands were trailing over his bare skin, up and down his spine and across his ribs, and Clint vaguely wondered if he was checking for injury more than copping a feel, before deciding he didn’t care.  

 

“Gotta count the swats, got it.”  Clint was already sinking into that place in his mind where everything was quiet and still and entirely about whatever James asked him to do.  The anxiety of the day and the pain in his leg seemed to fade away beneath the desire to be  _ good _ , beneath the realization that as long as he did whatever James told him to do, he was right.  He felt James’ chest vibrate under his hands as he chuckled silently, and Clint distantly wondered what was so funny.

 

“Normally, I’d turn you over my knee,” James said, slow and thoughtful, and Clint-

 

Clint felt a hot rush of want coil in his gut, and he made an involuntary noise in the back of his throat.

 

“But we have to keep that ankle elevated, so we’ll have to try something different.”  James’ face scrunched up a little in thought. “It’s  _ just _ the ankle, right?” he checked.  “Your arms and back are okay?”

 

“Just the ankle,” Clint confirmed.  “Well, that and my pride.”

 

“Your ass is going to smart more than your pride when I’m done,” James promised darkly, and maneuvered himself behind Clint to sit in the chair he’d just been pulled out of.

 

“Promises, promises,” Clint muttered.

 

James made a sound of disapproval, but he didn’t say anything, just pulled Clint down into his lap.

 

“Gonna be hard to spank my ass if I’m sitting on it,” Clint continued, trying to shift into a more comfortable position, starkly aware of his own ass for more than one reason.

 

“Keep sassing me and I’ll add more to your spanking,” James warned.  “Can you hold yourself up on your arms?”

 

“You know I can.” Clint had demonstrated his former-acrobat-circus-brat skills on more than one occasion in the course of their relationship, and not just in the bedroom.  Clint could walk the length of the apartment and back on his hands, and James knew it.

 

James ignored the low-level sass, but Clint knew he was pushing his luck.  “Lean over and put your hands flat on the ground. Get comfortable.”

 

Clint did as he was told, leaning forward to brace himself on his hands, shoulder-width apart, and leaning some of his weight on them.  His chest was between James’ knees, and the stretch was a little bit of a burn on his right thigh, but it was tolerable.

 

“Good,” James said, and Clint responded the same way to the praise that he always did, with a short burst of pleasure in his mind, and felt a flush climb up his face that had very little to do with the way the blood was rushing to his head.  “Now lift your feet, one at a time, and put them in the chair. Right foot first.”

 

Clint lifted his foot as instructed, felt James wrap a gentle hand around his ankle and another under his knee, maneuvering his leg into the space between James’ thigh and the arm of the chair.  He repeated the motion with his left leg, until he was settled head down and feet up, with his ass in the air.

 

He was uncomfortably aware of how on display the position made him, his ass in James’ lap, thighs spread and dick rubbing against the edge of the cushion.  

 

And his planned distraction was just as visible, he suddenly realized, when James made a sound deep in his throat. 

 

James’ left hand came to rest on his left cheek, spreading it open so he could see the purple plug nestled deep in Clint’s ass more clearly.

 

“What’s this?” he said, and Clint could hear the smirk in his voice.  The position made the plug push even more firmly into his prostate, which was bad enough, but then James tapped the end of it, once, then again, and Clint bit back a groan as it nudged his prostate sharply.

 

“A surprise,” he bit out, just about managing to keep his voice even.

 

“A distraction,” James countered, and Clint swallowed roughly.  His hand pulled even more sharply at the cheek of Clint’s ass, exposing him further.  “I think you deserve an extra smack just for this.”

 

“Hey!” Clint started to argue, then James’ right hand came down with a solid thwack, the sharp crack of which reached his ears before the pain of it registered, and Clint’s argument turned into a humiliating yelp of pain. 

 

“Count,” James ordered, and his hand smoothed over the abused flesh, rubbing the painful smack into something that was deeper, hotter, and infinitely more intriguing.  Not quite pleasurable, but Clint had the sinking feeling he was going to learn to like it. “I won’t remind you again.”

 

“One,” Clint ground out, his face feeling like it was on fire.

 

James’ fingers trailed over the smarting sensation on Clint’s right cheek as he let go with his left hand.  Clint tried to brace himself, but James just kept tracing patterns over what was probably a spectacular handprint until Clint’s shoulders relaxed. 

 

Then his left hand came down in a similar, sharp smack.

 

“Fuck,” Clint panted.  “Fuck, two. Ow.”

 

James repeated the rubbing treatment on the left cheek, until the stinging pain morphed into the same deep burn as the right, and both his ass cheeks were hot and tingling.  The sensation bled up Clint’s ass into his lower back and spine, like a simmering sense of anticipation. 

 

Another smack, this time low on the right cheek, where his ass and thigh met, and the pain was more intense there.

 

“Three,” Clint said, roughly, as tears stung at the corners of his eyes.  James wasn’t pulling his strikes at all.

 

_ Smack _ .

 

“Four.”  Clint’s nose was stuffy, and his eyes stung even more.

 

“Color?” James asked, massaging both cheeks roughly, morphing the pain into something Clint could tolerate.

 

“Green,” Clint managed, though his voice sounded strangled. 

 

James paused, but decided it must have been good enough, because Clint got a resounding slap across both cheeks for his trouble, the motion shoving the plug deep inside of him, up against his prostate, mingling pain with pleasure in a way that made him gasp.

 

“Five,” he said, voice thready and tears dripping from his eyes onto the floor. 

 

It hurt, yes, but Clint also couldn’t stop the grind of his hips into James hands, or the way his cock was hard enough to pound nails, or the way the plug made every single slap sing across his nerves in a kind of stinging, tortuous pleasure.  

 

_ Smack. _

 

“Six,” Clint sobbed.

 

“Halfway there baby,” James soothed.  “You’re doing so good.” And there was the pleasure of pleasing James, teasing at his brain, and making Clint’s spine smooth and relax. 

 

_ Smack. _

 

“Seven.”

 

James hands were rubbing not just his ass now, but his lower back and thighs, dragging the sensitivity of his ass up and down the rest of his body, pushing it up and out, until Clint was suffused in it.  He reached between Clint’s throbbing ass and tugged a little at the plug, making Clint gasp. He pulled harder, until the plug slid out about halfway, until the widest part was stretching Clint open, and then James ran a finger around the edge of his rim, making Clint shudder. 

 

“What was the plan?” James mused, his voice gone dark and heady.  “Were you just gonna drop your pants around your ankles and beg me to fuck you, hope I wouldn’t notice you’d hurt yourself? Hurt what’s mine?”  He twisted the plug as he spoke, and Clint’s hips jerked involuntarily, trying to force it back in, trying to force the penetration.

 

_ Smack _ .

 

The unexpected slap made Clint clench up around the plug and dragged another sob from his throat.  “Eight. Yes, eight, yes that was the plan.”

 

James made a little humming sound, and then pushed the plug back in, forcing it up against Clint’s prostate, before pulling it out and repeating the motion a few more times.

 

“Oh god, oh fuck,” Clint managed, gasping for air.  His ass was on fire and his dick felt like it was going to explode and he was ready to beg for relief.  He was rocking into the motion of the plug, letting his body do the begging for him. 

 

The little humming sound got repeated, and James pulled the plug completely free of Clint’s body before replacing it with cool, lube-slick fingers.  

 

“Oh god,” Clint said again, arching his back.

 

James crooked his fingers, dragging them purposely against Clint’s prostate, and then smacked him again.

 

“Nine,” Clint cried out, jerking both into and away from the sensation.  

 

The motion of James’ hand didn’t stop, he kept stroking Clint’s prostate roughly, forcing pleasure and pain out of his body simultaneously and Clint’s arms were shaking for all of his big talk.

 

_ Smack _ . 

 

“Ten, oh god, that’s ten,” Clint babbled, utter relief filling his body. 

 

“Oh no,” James said, pulling his fingers away, and leaving Clint empty and exposed.  “You get an extra for bad behavior, remember.”

 

Before Clint could protest, there was one final smack, a lighter one than the others, just the tips of James’ fingers.

 

Right against his twitching, sensitive hole.

 

Clint’s cock jerked like he was going to come, but didn’t quite make it, and the sound he made was garbled and unintelligible, high-pitched and needy.

 

“Eleven,” he gasped.  “Eleven, eleven, eleven, eleven.”  Clint was babbling, shuddering under the onslaught of sensation, tears streaming down his face until he couldn’t see anything but the blurry wood of the floor beneath him.  

 

And then James yanked him up by his hips, until Clint’s arms were fully extended and James’ face was buried between Clint’s ass cheeks. His mouth was a heated revelation against Clint’s clenching hole, his tongue diving in to soothe the sting of the tiny smack, while simultaneously stimulating all of the already-sensitive nerves there.  

 

Clint writhed underneath the attention, his shoulders shaking along with his arms, and his hips grinding up against James’ face as much as the position allowed.  He’d long since lost track of what was coming out of his mouth, beyond expletives and the word please over and over again. 

 

Under his thighs, James was fumbling with his pants, and vaguely, Clint felt his dick spring free to slap against Clint’s thigh.  James dragged his face away from Clint’s ass, pressing kisses to his cheeks and lower back for a moment.

 

“Do you want my dick in you?” James asked, his voice hoarse and gravelly.  

 

“Yes,” Clint said -  _ begged _ .  “Please.”

 

“Come sit on it then.”

 

And that-

 

That gave Clint pause. 

 

He wanted it.  God he wanted it, he wanted to be fucked, and held, and told he was good, but he absolutely did not want to sit on his ass.  He could already feel it throbbing, the deep ache in the muscle that meant he was going to feel the spanking - and god was he never going to laugh about a spanking ever again - at least into the morning and possibly for another couple of days.

 

But he really, really wanted to get fucked. 

 

“That’s the only way I’m going to fuck you,” James said, reading Clint’s mind. 

 

“Okay,” he said in a rush. “Okay, okay, just- help me up?”

 

James did, wrapping his hands around Clint’s rib cage and helping him heft his body off of the floor, until he was hovering on his knees above James’ lap. He eased down, James holding his own dick for Clint to perch over it, and then fucked himself onto it, his head thrown back and his breath leaving him in short, sharp gasps.  

 

“Fuck,” he said, reverently, as he slid lower with each pass.  “Fuck, you feel good.”

 

James hummed against his shoulder, his mouth pressed there and his hands tight on Clint’s hips.  

 

Clint hissed as he settled fully into James’ lap, his abused ass resting against James’ thighs, still covered in the cloth of his slacks except for where he’d ripped the fly open.  His ass made its objections known, the pain flaring up even as pleasure competed. Clint took a deep, shuddering breath. 

 

Shifting in the seat, James hooked his ankle against the abandoned suitcase and pulled it closer, and the motion made Clint hiss again.  James ignored him, continuing to move until he was settled more comfortably in the chair, slouched down with Clint in his lap and both feet flat on the floor.  He reached for Clint’s legs, tugging them out from under him and ending up with Clint’s entire weight on his pelvis and his right foot propped back on the suitcase.

 

“Gotta keep that leg elevated, sweetheart,” James murmured, even as Clint squirmed uncomfortably on his dick.  

 

James wrapped a hand around Clint’s erection, sliding smoothly up and down, and Clint tried to relax into the sensation, tried to lean back against James’ chest and let himself be handled, but nothing he did could take his mind off of the burning of his ass.  He gasped and James rocked up into him, the scrape of his dick against Clint’s prostate amazing, while the press of his hips was simultaneously uncomfortable against Clint’s abused ass. 

 

“You hurtin’ baby?” James asked, sounding every inch pleased as hell with himself.  He stroked Clint’s dick again, making Clint arch up into the sensation and then groan as it rubbed his ass the literal wrong way.  

 

“Yes,” Clint admitted, panting and still writhing. 

 

“You want me to make it better?” James asked.

 

“Yes,” Clint whined, actually  _ whined _ . 

 

“You want me to make you come?” 

 

“Fuck,” Clint managed, trying to leverage himself up on his arms enough to take the pressure of his ass.  “Yes, god, please, you know I do.”

 

Clint felt the smile James pressed against his neck. 

 

“Tell me how you hurt yourself and I’ll make it all better, I promise.”

 

And  _ fuck _ but that was blackmail.  Clint made an outraged noise, and James responded by driving his hips up against Clint’s ass, fucking up against his prostate enough to make fireworks appear behind Clint’s eyes, but also causing enough painful sensation to force another hitched sob out of Clint’s chest.  

 

“Fuck you,” Clint wheezed out.  

 

James tsked.  “Do you need another spanking, sweetheart?”

 

“I jumped off a balcony to avoid a guard,” Clint ground out, arching up and away from Bucky’s body but still managing to keep his dick trapped deep inside of him.  He squeezed around it, trying to convince Bucky to give the game up. “I landed wrong.”

 

“Did you  _ need _ to avoid the guard?” James asked, gripping Clint’s cock and stroking it just the way he knew Clint liked.

 

“No,” Clint managed.  “Didn’t wanna get caught.”

 

“Was it worth it? Coming home to me hurt?”  James’ voice was soft, coaxing, and it compelled a new, different kind of sob out of Clint’s throat.  There was a lump there that almost prevented the sound from escaping, but Clint still made an involuntary noise.

 

“No,” he admitted.

 

“What do you say?” It nearly sounded like sweet talk, cajoling and warm, prompting Clint to answer almost against his will. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Clint sighed, defeated.  

 

“Apology accepted,” James soothed, and then he was maneuvering Clint up and off of him.  Clint whined at the loss, but James ran a comforting hand down his spine even as he positioned him belly-down on the bed with a pillow beneath his hips.  

 

“Fuck, you look pretty,” James said, voice again low and hoarse.  He dragged his fingers along Clint’s ass, pulling against the soreness there, sending sparks of sensation up Clint’s spine until he shuddered.  “Your ass looks good, spanked red for me.”

 

Clint couldn’t help the sound he made in response.  

 

James mouth ghosted over the curve of his ass, where he was sensitive and over stimulated, and Clint shivered again.  Then he disappeared, leaving Clint cold and bereft, but Clint could hear the sound of cloth shifting, and looked over his shoulder to see James shucking his clothes, folding them neatly on the ottoman without ever taking his eyes off of Clint.  

 

Normally, Clint would make a snarky comment, some kind of ‘like what you see’ remark that would bring James back to bed, to drape his body over Clint’s and establish the kind of ownership that Clint typically craved, but something about the red-hot sting of his ass and the possessive way James had handled him had settled the desire in Clint.  He was content to just look, to watch skin and muscle be revealed.

 

When James was naked, Clint sighed in satisfaction, his chin resting on his bicep.  

 

“Still want me to fuck you?” James asked, crawling over Clint on the bed and hovering with his body just millimeters above Clint’s.  “You did so good, baby,” James crooned, pressing kisses against Clint’s shoulders and back. “Did  _ so _ well for me, you want me to fuck you now?”

 

“Yes,” Clint breathed, pressing up into the contact and arching his spine.  The pain of his ass was almost distant now, already subsiding into a low-level ache that was only going to add an edge to the pleasure. 

 

James rubbed against him, sliding his cock between the cheeks of Clint’s ass until he was rocking up into the motion, trying to force James’ dick where he wanted it most - inside him - with every motion.

 

“Please,” Clint added, pushing himself up on his elbows enough to get a bit of leverage. 

 

James pressed him back down, a hand firm against the base of his spine until Clint was shoved back down onto the pillow that was oh-so-helpfully forcing his ass into the air.  James’ other hand trailed down the crease of his ass, fingers dipping into Clint’s hole to check and see if he was still ready, as though Clint hadn’t been ready for hours, for what felt like  _ years _ . 

 

Before Clint could protest, or even do much more than whimper at the contact, James’ fingers were replaced by the thick, blunt head of his cock, and Clint groaned, low and long, as James pressed inside of him.  

 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” he managed, still arching his spine against James’ hand to take him deeper.

 

James rocked into him, slow and steady, careful not to put too much pressure on Clint’s aching, spanked-red ass, and Clint could hear his harsh breathing as he held himself in control. 

 

“Please,” Clint said again, hitching his hips up higher, trying to force James deeper. 

 

There was a laugh that was half moan, half amusement, and then James leaned further over Clint, tangling their fingers together and pressing Clint into the mattress with his weight.

 

“I’m tryin’ to be nice,” James said, mouth hot against the back of Clint’s neck as he nipped at the skin there.  He rocked his hips against Clint again, and this time his pelvis came into full contact with Clint’s ass, a burn of remembered pain shooting up his spine along with the spark of pleasure.  “Tryin’ to be considerate. You did good sweetheart, I don’t wanna hurt you more.”

 

“Feels good,” Clint slurred, squirming in the hold.  “Don’t want you to be nice.”

 

James made a thoughtful noise, and then fucked into Clint harder, shoving their hips together, and Clint sucked in a sharp breath before releasing it on a moan that felt like it was dragged out of his  _ bones _ . 

 

“Oh, god,” he managed, writhing under James’ touch. 

 

“You like that baby?” James asked, doing it again. 

 

When all Clint could do was groan and thrash beneath him, James did it again.

 

And again, and again, until all Clint could focus on was how close he was to coming, on the dick in his ass and his own cock grinding against the towel James had thrown down over the pillows.  

 

“Please, please, please,” he begged, shoving against James’ hold to no avail and honestly to no purpose, except that he could no longer entirely control his body’s reaction to being fucked, his ass sore and sensitive on the outside and all-consuming pleasure on the inside.  

 

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” James asked, rolling his hips into Clint’s in what felt like endless waves of pleasure.  “You deserve it,” he added, reaching down to pull Clint’s hip higher into his next thrust. “I want you to come, I want you to feel good.”

 

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” Clint managed, and then he was a shuddering, sobbing wreck of a man, James’ cock still pistoning in and out of him as he thrashed and whimpered beneath James’ body. “Oh god,” he gasped, even as James rhythm became jerky and he made a low, wounded noise in the back of his throat as he came too.

 

James was careful to hold himself above Clint for the most part, not putting too much pressure on his backside, and Clint, limp and spent under him, was distantly grateful for the reprieve.  As the rush of pleasure faded, the throbbing ache of his ass became more prominent, until he was shifting for a far different reason. Clint was still drifting a bit, somewhere in that floaty space of his brain, but not quite as deeply as usual. 

 

Withdrawing carefully, James pressed a kiss to Clint’s shoulder.  “Be right back, sweetheart,” he said, quiet and sure, and ran a hand along Clint’s spine.

 

Clint shivered, but remained bonelessly flopped on the pillows, lying in his own mess. “‘Kay,” he mumbled into the duvet.  

 

When James returned, he had a bottle of aloe gel and a warm washcloth.  The gel went directly onto Clint’s ass, James rubbing it in gently until it was a cool relief on his skin, and then rolling him onto his side to wipe him down carefully.  The sheets got pulled down and tucked around them, along with a pillow under Clint’s head and knee, and then James was snugged up against his back, right where Clint liked him best. 

 

“Feelin’ okay?” James asked, after a few quiet minutes during which he traced aimless patterns on Clint’s skin and brushed kisses across his spine.  

 

“Mmmm,” Clint agreed.  “Feel good, ‘cept my ass hurts.”  He snickered, a little, euphoria and pain all swirled up with endorphins in his bloodstream and leaving him floaty still.

 

James hand ran lower, past his flank and hip to drift across Clint’s ass.  “Not too bad?” he checked, when Clint didn’t flinch away from the touch.

 

“Nah,” Clint said.  He’d had much worse, a thousand times before, and not enjoyed it nearly as much.  “It was good. I deserved it,” he added, around a yawn. “Should’na lied to you.”

 

There was a little humming sound that was neither agreement nor disagreement behind him.  “Shouldn’t have got hurt in the first place,” James corrected, after a moment. “You don’t have to do that anymore.  I like you safe and sound and in my bed, not hurt because you think you’ve got something to prove.”

 

Clint couldn’t quite bring himself to agree.  

 

He and Natasha had been among the best in the world, before Clint had went and got himself shot, and put an end to their careers and reputation. 

 

He didn’t say anything, just snuggled further into James’ embrace. 

 

“Hey,” James said, into the silence. “I mean that.  You don’t have to do that anymore - you’re meant to be showing off how awesome you are, not getting hurt avoiding overweight, glorified night watchmen.”

 

Clint grunted, some of the afterglow fading.

 

James snuck a kiss in beneath Clint’s ear, blanketing his body further over Clint’s.  “You’re the best at what you do,” James reminded him. “You and Natalia are booked solid well in advance; you’re even turning down jobs you can’t fit in your schedules.  You don’t have anything to prove to anyone Clint, and definitely not me. I’m proud of you, honey.”

 

Letting that penetrate hurt more, in a way, than the spanking had.  It was admitting he wasn’t what he had been, and could never be that again, but that James liked him  _ anyway _ , thought he was great  _ anyway _ , and Clint - who had never been good enough for anything, his whole life - was struggling with the idea that he could excel at something, could be appreciated for it, despite his past failures.

  
He swallowed a lump in his throat, tugging James’ arm tighter around his waist, forcing their bodies impossibly closer.  “Thanks,” he croaked, feeling like there was a vice tightening around his heart. 

 

“I’m proud of you, Clint,” James said, soft and sure. He wrapped his arms more firmly around Clint, let the words settle between them, like a declaration.

 

Clint made a little contented noise, unwilling and unable to respond, but allowed himself to drift in James’ embrace, eventually dropping off into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of people deserve thanks for this fic. Please let them know how much you appreciate their efforts XD
> 
> As always - a million years of love and thanks to Clara who beta reads 98% of everything I write and encourages every word of it because she is wonderful in hundreds of ways.
> 
> Thank thatsmysecret because she sent me a **seriously** not safe for work set of of gifs that inspired this entire fic, and then listened to me ramble for like THREE HOURS about exactly what type of injury Clint would have to sustain to make this feasible and plot relevant. I'm so so so sorry. 
> 
> Thank Amberlyinviolet who is my resource for all things Kinky because my vanilla ass has no idea wtf I'm doing, who always reads over my kink things for consent issues and proper use of safewords. And let's me ask stupid questions about after care. I love you bby. 
> 
> Lissadiane, who read this, and encouraged it, and read it some more, and told me it wasn't weird when I wasn't sure, and was generally a wonderful person. And who also verified as another vanilla person that it still made sense. A wholly wonderful human being, tbh. 
> 
> Last but not least, the Socially Awkward GirlGang - y'all know who you are (I doubt you're even reading this) - who all read through an early draft to confirm it was, indeed, hot. 
> 
> This fic wouldn't be possible without each and every one of you. Thanks a million times for being friends, cheerleaders, and exemplary human beings. I love you all.


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